


Damn The Woman.

by TheStoriesWeLoveBest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-19 02:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9414827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStoriesWeLoveBest/pseuds/TheStoriesWeLoveBest
Summary: There were a lot of things about her that made her dangerous: her smirk, her kisses, her embrances, her brain, her words, her games. Her misteries.There were a lot of things that made her got him, because she got him, right from the start.And he hated it, he hated her for taking the control, even when couldn't truly hate her.





	1. Damn The Woman.

He had lost control of her, she was free to walk through his Mental Palace, to be a intruder in his deductions, to play her games on him. 

She was free to do whatever she wanted just right from the first kiss. 

It was the taste of her mouth, the playful movements of her tongue, her hands in his hair. The smirk of the victorie after the kiss, the arrogance in her eyes.

She won.Of course she would win, it was her game.


	2. Damn her kisses.

The first kiss was in a claustrophobic hotel room of a Pakistan hotel, in the borders of Karachi, with great views of the street, in case any of her enemies was looking for her. There was no one at sight. 

He had lit a cigar, looking through the glass, pretending not noticing her, even when he was well aware of every action she did, of every movement her hips made walking in the room, the almost frenetical laugh that scaped from her lips when she realised that infact she was still alive. 

“Well, thank you Mr. Holmes. It had been an unexpected surprise.”

“Do you not actually think that I would let you to die, right?”

She didn’t answer but pressed her lips and passed her hand throgh her dark and dirty hair. She needed a shower, and some time to think about herself and about being alive.   
She took one hour and thirty two minutes, and he counted it, asking himself if he should helped her, somehow. But he didn’t, and she neither asked for help. 

When she came out of the bathroom, she looked like herself. She had putted a tower around her thin figure, was barefoot, and some of the blood that had covered her body before had desappeared. Her injuries weren’t as bad as he had thought, thank you very much. She only had a few brushes in the feets, and some scars in the back. Lashes. 

It doesn’t matter to her, she seemed fine enough. Irene sat next to him, looking at the street. 

“They would not come,” she declared. “I doubt any of them was still alive.”

Sherlock made an afirmative noise with the lips, without taking the cigar from them, and without looking at her.

“Why had you came, Mr. Holmes?”

“You needed my helped, obviously.”

“No. I didn’t.”

“You weren’t alive if it wasn’t for me.”

“I didn’t asked you to save my life.”

“Though I did it, right?”

He looked at her. She was so close that he could smell the cheap shampoo of the hotel, the hot of the bath radiating from her body. Suddenly the room seemed so so hot.   
She preseed her lips together, and he killed the space that separated them by kissing her. 

 

It was the way she kissed him back, her fierceness, her hungry of power. 

Thirteen months since the first kiss he still couldn’t composed the precise formula of her kisses, why them had made him go into her, looking for her, thinking about her.   
She kissed him when the last night they spent together before parting away, in Milan, above the lights of the luxury chandelier from the expensive suite of the best hotel in the city.

“Until the next time, Mr. Holmes.” She had said, giving him a deep deep kiss that got him thinking about her all the flight till Serbia. That were her specific words, the equivalent of don’t die, stay alive that neither of them would said, but that he understood because of the kiss, because of all the kisses she had given him in that suicidal adventure. 

He kissed her back, without bothering in giving her a reply, pushing her through the door and making her moan like in his text tone. 

Neither of them knew if they would see the other again. But, oh, he wanted to see her again. 

 

She visited him after the wedding, she was waiting for him in his flat, with a kiss prepared at her lips, just for him. A kiss different from all the ones that they had shared, a kiss that spoke of compassion, and not being lonely, of the remembrance from the time they were together, together.

A kissed that made him missed her when she was gone, texting her, follow her steps (as long as she let the traces for him), a kiss that could easily make for beg, one or two times.

A kiss so sentimental that they rarely shared another like that. 

 

She was also at the hospital, without a proper kiss but with the same concern that she had shown him every night alone in that mission. The same concern that got the kiss he gave her when that bullet grazed her shoulder. She was in his bedroom just a few minutes, frightened even to kiss him. So, like the first night, she just pressed her lips to his cheek, so close to his lips that everybody else would think it was a real kiss, but not them, not after all the kisses they had given to each other. 

She was careful these time, and just before living – after leaving to him her cart, with the coordinates of her new location; and that rose – she clean the trace of her lipstick from his skin.

“Do not dare to die, Mr. Holmes” 

 

She kissed him again, with the same concern and compassion she had once shown to him, when he arrived at Salt Lake City, broken and high, unable even to stay up. She had kissed him while he was asleep and all her concerns were live again. Oh, darling.

 

And six months later she was expecting him, in the airport, like the normal people, with a cliché kiss that neither of them avoid to happen. He talked to her about Eurus, Sherrinford, his new cases, Rosie, and she waits as long as she could before kissing him. 

“You looked so much better than the last time, darling.”

It was in the stop of a red light from a traffic light. She had been worried about him, he could told, but she wasn’t right then. Her kiss was full of power and again hungry of power that he couldn’t even think the next words that escaped from his lips:

-Come with me.


	3. Damn everytime she took a gun.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she took a gun the world should be afraid of her. She was fierce and in power, and there wasn’t anything worst that The Woman in power, (the bruises on his back are the real proof).

When she took a gun the world should be afraid of her. She was fierce and in power, and there wasn’t anything worst that The Woman in power, (the bruises on his back are the real proof). 

The first time he saw her took a gun was after his death, he had broke into her house through the window, she was living in Chicago, in a luxury apartment in the best neighbourhood of the city. When Irene heard the window open she grabbed the gun she had hid between the sofa’s couch. 

“Mmm, this is such a lovely visit”she had said, without putting the gun away. “Now, tell me, why shouldn’t I kill you?”

“Because I saved your life?”

“Fair enough.”

Sherlock was in a semi-high state, staggering at every step. She caught him when he was closer and guided him till the sofa just in time to lay him down, leaving the gun in the table next to it. 

“I’m tracing Moriarty’s Network” he had said, closing his eyes and triying to concentrate himself. 

“You were dead, I read the newspaper.”

“I’m alive, Woman, don’t remark the obvious, please.”

Irene smirked, she knew exactly what he wanted, she sat in the table, staring at him without a blink.

“Why are you here?”

“You are the only one that are as dead as I am.”

“Fair enough, but you aren’t here because you’re feel alone, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Why are you here?”

“Are you going to make me say it, right?”

“Yes, Mr Holmes. You’re the intruder, it’s your time to beg.”

“I don’t remember you begging when I saved your life.”

“I didn’t asked you to safe my life, Mr Holmes.”

He raised an eyebrow and she smile again.

“C’mon Mr Holmes, it isn’t so difficult, just say it.”

“Please Woman, I need your help.”

 

That city was very similar to London, at least for him, he had the feeling of being in his city again, solving his cases like he like to do. She wasn’t aware of the similarities between the cities. Their enemies’ den was very close to them, she was targeting the principal man of that branch of the Network, an English man that was one of the principal contacts of James Moriarty with the United States. 

She fired, a single shot that went straight to the victim's head.

And he knew that he should be grateful for that woman not being his enemy, because if Jim had almost killed him, she would definitely kill him. 

“We should go, now” she had said, giving him the gun and walking down the street without waiting for him. 

 

She was almost hit by a bullet in Stansted Airport, in England again and it feels awfully awful because they were so so close of their city but neither of them could be really there, and it was awful. They could only be there thanks to Mycroft. 

They were just between flights following the traces of one woman that she knew works for Moriarty and got important information. The woman they were following had discovered them

Irene sat straight in the chair when she saw their target pointing at them with a gun.

“Careful, Mr. Holmes” she whispered.

How she had passed a gun through the metal control wasn’t a mystery for neither of them. 

“I think we should run.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Woman, that would drawn attention to us”, he looked at the other woman, inciting her to shoot, but she hand trembled.”She would not shoot” he told Irene, “she is too nervous.”

Their target needed two hours and half to decide herself if she should shoot or not, and it was when Sherlock wasn’t near. Irene had followed her to the bathroom when Miss Bauer targeted Miss Adler. 

“You should not follow me”, she had said. 

“Oh, dear, don’t you actually think is this easy killing me, don’t you?”

Irene shot her at point-blank range, with the gun she was hiding in her waist, and left the corpse there, taking the gun with her. 

“We need to take the first flight away from here” she told Sherlock. 

 

He lost the count of how many guns he had saw her take, or how there wasn’t a time, not even a single time, that her hands trembled in the process. She was an expert and luckily since that first night she hadn’t target him. 

She could kill him without a blink. 

 

She made fun of him when he was shot, just after she was sure that he wasn’t going to die. She texted him:

“I heard you were shot, do you wish I were the one who shot?”

“Maybe you wouldn’t be alive at all.”

He smiled reading her texts but didn’t answer. He doesn’t reply her, it’s all about her, their, game.

“Let’s have dinner, my dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, leave comments and kudos, tell me what you think ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, leave kudos and comments!


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